terror at thought of his possible danger.
Meanwhile, Kwan-yu was summoned to the Forbidden City, which is
in the centre of Peking, and in which stands the Imperial palace. There
he received his instructions from the Son of Heaven.
"And remember," said Yung-lo in conclusion, "this bell must be so
great that the sound of it will ring out to a distance of thirty-three miles
on every hand. To this end, you should add in proper proportions gold
and brass, for they give depth and strength to everything with which
they mingle. Furthermore, in order that this giant may not be lacking in
the quality of sweetness, you must add silver in due proportion, while
the sayings of the sages must be graven on its sides."
Now when Kwan-yu had really received his commission from the
Emperor he searched the bookstalls of the city to find if possible some
ancient descriptions of the best methods used in bell-casting. Also he
offered generous wages to all who had ever had experience in the great
work for which he was preparing. Soon his great foundry was alive
with labourers; huge fires were burning; great piles of gold, silver and
other metals were lying here and there, ready to be weighed.
Whenever Kwan-yu went out to a public tea-house all of his friends
plied him with questions about the great bell.
"Will it be the largest in the world?"
"Oh, no," he would reply, "that is not necessary, but it must be the
sweetest-toned, for we Chinese strive not for size, but for purity; not for
greatness, but for virtue."
"When will it be finished?"
"Only the gods can tell, for I have had little experience, and perhaps I
shall fail to mix the metals properly."
Every few days the Son of Heaven himself would send an imperial
messenger to ask similar questions, for a king is likely to be just as
curious as his subjects, but Kwan-yu would always modestly reply that
he could not be certain; it was very doubtful when the bell would be
ready.
At last, however, after consulting an astrologer, Kwan-yu appointed a
day for the casting, and then there came another courtier robed in
splendid garments, saying that at the proper hour the Great One himself
would for the first time cross Kwan-yu's threshold--would come to see
the casting of the bell he had ordered for his people. On hearing this,
Kwan-yu was sore afraid, for he felt that somehow, in spite of all his
reading, in spite of all the advice he had received from well-wishers,
there was something lacking in the mixture of the boiling metals that
would soon be poured into the giant mould. In short, Kwan-yu was
about to discover an important truth that this great world has been
thousands of years in learning--namely, that mere reading and advice
cannot produce skill, that true skill can come only from years of
experience and practice. On the brink of despair, he sent a servant with
money to the temple, to pray to the gods for success in his venture.
Truly, despair and prayer rhyme in every language.
Ko-ai, his daughter, was also afraid when she saw the cloud on her
father's brow, for she it was, you remember, who had tried to prevent
him from undertaking the Emperor's commission. She also went to the
temple, in company with a faithful old servant, and prayed to heaven.
The great day dawned. The Emperor and his courtiers were assembled,
the former sitting on a platform built for the occasion. Three attendants
waved beautiful hand-painted fans about his imperial brow, for the
room was very warm, and a huge block of ice lay melting in a bowl of
carved brass, cooling the hot air before it should blow upon the head of
the Son of Heaven.
Kwan-yu's wife and daughter stood in a corner at the back of the room,
peering anxiously towards the cauldron of molten liquid, for well they
knew that Kwan-yu's future rank and power depended on the success of
this enterprise. Around the walls stood Kwan-yu's friends, and at the
windows groups of excited servants strained their necks, trying to catch
a glimpse of royalty, and for once afraid to chatter. Kwan-yu himself
was hurrying hither and thither, now giving a final order, now gazing
anxiously at the empty mould, and again glancing towards the throne to
see if his imperial master was showing signs of impatience.
At last all was ready; everyone was waiting breathlessly for the sign
from Yung-lo which should start the flowing of the metal. A slight bow
of the head, a lifting of the finger! The glowing liquid, hissing with
delight at being freed even for a moment from its prison, ran forward
faster and faster along the channel that
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